


Here comes Santa Claus

by elliex



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Holiday Cheer, Let's fix the sadness, S09, Unabashedly fluffy, eventually, holiday fun and happiness, human cas, kind of cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time, John Winchester tried to gank Santa Claus. Now, in order to make his accountants happy, Santa must find the Winchesters and deliver their backlog of gifts. What he finds, though, is Dean in trouble and overwhelmed. </p><p>Friendly advice from St. Nick re-energizes Dean and by next Christmas... well, let's just say things are decidedly happier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here comes Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> Though there are some dark notes in this story, it's mostly unabashed holiday fluff. If you read, I hope you enjoy!

\+ + + + 

Nick stared into his eggnog, wondering when the knot in his stomach would go away. He’d prided himself on his reliability, his accuracy, his generosity of spirit – but damn it all. Now everything was going to come out. 

Nick tossed back his nog and ordered another with a double shot of rum. The bartender shook his head but filled the order anyway. “You driving tonight?,” he asked.

“Nope,” Nick replied. 

“Can I call someone for you? The missus, perhaps?,” the bartender asked, disapproval clear on his face. 

Nick glowered until the pointy-eared bastard had the grace to drop his eyes and shrug. “Let me know if you need anything else,” he muttered, moving to help patrons at the other end of the bar.

Nick breathed a sigh of relief and downed his drink. He rose on unsteady legs and carefully navigated through the crowded bar, ignoring the darts game in the corner and the Christmas karaoke unfolding on the stage. 

He just wanted to go home. The morning was going to bring nothing but trouble. 

+

Josie rapped sharply on his partially opened door. “Hey boss?,” she said. “Got some time?”

“Yeah,” Nick replied, rubbing his bleary eyes and wishing the room would stop moving. 

“I’ve got the forensics report from accounting.” She paused and looked down at the folder she clutched in her hand before raising her eyes to meet Nick’s. “Do you want this now, or…?” She trailed off. 

Nick held his hand out. “Just give it to me.”

She handed him the blue folder and he laid it open on his desk and began flipping through its contents. He realized that she was standing there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

“Yes?,” he asked, lifting one eyebrow quizzically. 

Josie cleared her throat. “Um…the – uh – the division manager said there would need to be a meeting this afternoon. Something about clearing the account?”

Nick harrumphed but didn’t say anything.

“She – uh – she told me not to leave without getting your confirmation that you’ll be there promptly at 1 p.m. because otherwise you’ll stand her up again.”

Nick threw her a sharp look, and Josie hastily added, “Her words, not mine.”

He snorted at that. “I’ll be there - with jingle bells on,” he added snarkily.

Josie only looked even more uncomfortable, and he shut up, staring down at the report he’d never wanted to read.

+

He blamed that sneaky son of a bitch John Winchester for _all_ of this. After 1983, deliveries to the Winchester home – or motel room, as the case might have been – was akin to conquering a military-grade obstacle course. 

That first year, Nick had chuckled at the various runes carved around the door – he recognized them, but they were a bastardized version of already-watered down druidic magicks and had no effect upon him. 

The next year, though…. Nick shuddered just remembering. He’d barely escaped that backwoods hunting cabin the Winchesters were temporarily living in. His knee had never been the same, and he looked down at the white scar that bisected his right hand. 

_That damn fool bastard_ , Nick thought. Oh, he knew that John had gotten into hunting. He knew everyone’s story – the good and the bad. Granted, John was a mixed bag, but Nick knew the man had good intentions for the most part. 

But who the fuck tries to gank Santa Claus? Papa Noel? Kris Kringle?

Christmas of ’86, Nick girded his loins to deliver to Dean and Sam’s presents, crazy-ass father or no, but abruptly, they disappeared. He put them on the recon list, but the division had no luck. By Christmas of ’89, the boys had been the only two names to ever go on the “missing” list. (The recon division was really that good – they _always_ found out what happened to their customers.)

Nick had figured that John’s wild antics had gotten the boys killed, and he’d lifted a glass of eggnog in their memory. The oldest – well, Nick knew how devoutly the boy tried to be a good little soldier, to take care of his brother, and it had made Nick happy to leave Dean the Transformers action figure he’d been silently praying for. The youngest wasn’t even four, so he’d been thrilled with blocks and a train. Nick had been grateful to know that, for both of these boys, he’d made a small difference. 

And now, damn near 30 years later, he finds out that the Winchester boys are alive and … well, they’re alive. How John had shielded them Nick didn’t know, though he suspected the crazy bastard had cast one of the prohibited, ancient spells. He read the forensics department’s hypothesis, which went even further, deducing that “the Seer,” the only being who possessed such knowledge in this modern world, had been persuaded – by force or by payment – to help John cast the spell. 

Nick read the Seer’s list of known whereabouts and snorted. Of course, she’d have taken up residence in fucking Kansas. Of course John Winchester would have cast a centuries-old spell. Of course he’d have kept his kids from Santa Claus.

 _The damn fool was lucky_ , Nick thought. That type of spell easily backfired, killing any human involved. 

He flipped through the other documents in the folder, taking special note of the letter that had started this entire investigation:

**Dear Santa,**

**My action figure was burned up. Will you bring me another?**

**And will you give Dean Winchester a present? He saved my life.**

**Love,**  
**Timmy Conroy**  
**Sonny’s Home for Boys**

_Dammit_ , Nick muttered under his breath.

+

Nick leaned back in his chair and watched Margie, the division manager, through his lashes. She was fit to be tied over this whole mess, walking a hole in the carpet, gesticulating wildly with her hands, and speaking at an octave higher than normal.

“It ruins our record, Nick! You have to take this seriously.” Nick tuned her out and replayed Bing Crosby’s greatest Christmas hits in his head. As he worked through the _White Christmas_ soundtrack for the second time, he decided that he’d had enough. 

“Margie – it’s two boys out of _how many_ since I took over this gig? And their father was that lunatic John Winchester who damn near killed me more than once.”

“We have to balance the account, Nick," Margie said sternly.

“Fine, fine,” he said. He’d already been thinking along those lines anyway. “I’ve reviewed their updated dossiers, and I can’t put either on the nice list, at least not right now. But what I can do is take them the backlog of gifts they _should_ have gotten – at least, in the years that they would have qualified. That should clear things out, right?”

Margie turned anxious eyes on Nick but reluctantly nodded. “Hopefully,” she said. “I don’t want the Board to get involved with this.”

Nick stood and held a hand out to the hyperactive micro-manager. “Now that, we can both agree on,” he said. 

+

Dean Winchester jerked awake, struggling through a haze of whisky and gin to figure out what he’d heard. 

There it was again. He scrambled out of bed and unsteadily made his way down the dark hallway and through the cold bunker, coming to a stop in the main room. He stared wide-eyed at what he saw: A man in a red suit laying gifts out on a table. 

He scrubbed a hand across his face. “Holy shit. I must be dreaming,” he muttered.

The man rose upright and limped over to where Dean stood; he held out a hand. “Hello, Dean,” Nick said. 

Dean stared dumbly at the outstretched hand for a long moment before taking it in his clammy one. 

“You smell like a sewer,” Nick said bluntly. 

“Yeah, well – so do you,” Dean said, cringing at the lameness of his retort. 

Nick narrowed his eyes, examining Dean in a way that made the hunter feel distinctly uncomfortable. 

“This is just a dream,” Dean said to himself. 

“No it’s not,” Nick said. “You can call me Nick – others call me Santa. Your dad hid you and Sam from my people when you were kids, so I’ve got a backlog of presents to deliver.”

“Uh- what?,” Dean asked, completely confused. 

“Accounting’s a bitch, even for an operation like mine,” Nick explained. “We have to clear your balance. Now, where’s your brother? The recon team tracked him here, but I don’t sense him.”

Dean’s face fell. “No, he’s gone. So’s Cas and Kevin. It’s just – it’s just me.” Dean’s voice broke, and he felt his composure crumbling. “You should leave, Nick. Just take your presents and go.” Dean tried for a grin and quipped, “I don’t know how me and Sam ever wound up on the nice list, anyway.” 

“Sometimes you didn’t, that’s true. But you did more times than you’d think.” Nick tilted his head in a way that reminded Dean of Cas. He examined Dean’s disheveled appearance, the dark circles, the sadness radiating off of him in waves. Nick glanced at his watch and said, “Hold on a minute.” 

He stepped away, pulling out a phone and placing a call. Dean couldn’t process that Santa had a smartphone, and he couldn’t hear what the man in the red suit said. But he felt a deep sense of relief when Nick came back and took his arm, guiding him into the kitchen. “We’re going to have a talk, Dean. I want you to tell me what’s going on because whatever this is” – Nick gestured generally at Dean – “wasn’t in your file.” 

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Dean had spilled his guts to Nick over a cup of hot cocoa. ( _Who carries emergency cocoa? Fuck my life, this has to be a dream._ ) Nick clasped Dean on the shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve had a rough year, kid,” he said. 

“No shit,” Dean mumbled. 

“Mouth like that’ll get you on the naughty list,” Nick quipped. 

“Pretty sure being on hell’s most wanted list gets me there too,” Dean said. 

Nick sighed and pulled his phone back out, pulling up something on the touchscreen and scrolling through a few screens of information. Dean sipped his chocolate and waited; he still wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t a dream – a really vivid, fucked up dream.

“Okay,” Nick finally said. “I have no idea how this year is going to go for you, Dean. But I don’t think it can get worse than what you just described to me, so here’s the deal: I got permission from our accounting office to hold off on reconciling yours and Sam’s accounts. You’re going back to bed and getting some sleep. Tomorrow, you’re going to get up and you’re going to fix this mess.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, cause it’s just that easy to fix.”

“Don’t sass me, boy. I might not be as old as your Castiel, but I’ve seen some shit.” He smiled kindly at Dean and said, more softly, “You’ve got to get a sense of self, Dean. Stop trying to control Sam’s choices, be true to yourself, and never give up on the people – or the angel – you love.”

Nick reached out and tousled Dean’s already-mussed hair, ignoring the blush staining Dean’s cheeks. “Kick it in the ass, Dean, and I’ll be back with all your presents when you do, okay?”

Dean nodded.

“Now, finish your cocoa,” Nick said. “That’s the Johnny Walker Blue of cocoa and should _never_ be wasted."

Dean did as he was told.

+

Dean woke up the next morning feeling oddly refreshed. A single wrapped present lay beside his bed – a long, narrow box in candy cane paper. Dean ripped it open and gasped at what was inside. 

He stared in the box a moment before swinging his legs out of bed and taking his first shower in days. He even shaved and applied the moisturizer he’d always kept hidden from Sam’s prying and taunting eyes. He dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, a bright plaid shirt, and his boots. Then he put on his gift. 

He considered his reflection in the mirror, unnerved by the amulet’s presence. He had no doubt this was the same one Sam had given him all those Christmases ago; the same one he’d tossed in a motel room wastebasket when the apocalypse was nigh. He rubbed his finger over the tiny chip that had been missing from the left horn since he was fifteen. This was _his_ amulet. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean strode out of the room, determined to put his world back to rights. 

\+ 

_One year later_

Dean jerked awake and lay in the darkness, heart pounding, trying to figure out what he’d heard. 

There it was again. He clambered out of bed to see what was the matter, chuckling as Cas mumbled and burrowed into the warm spot he’d left behind. Dean ran a hand quickly through those dark curls before slipping out of their room and padding down the hallway. 

A man in a red-suit was placing presents under the tree; he looked up as Dean entered the room and gave him a warm smile.

Dean grinned in turn. “I thought it might be you,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for this,” Dean touched the amulet he wore even in sleep, much to Cas’s consternation, “I’d have never believed you weren’t the product of my alcohol-soaked mind.”

“I figured as much,” Nick replied. “That’s why I left it. And here’s everything else, as promised.” Nick gestured and stepped back, allowing Dean to see the simple tree and lights that Cas and Sam had put up yesterday now fully decorated with presents stacked under its branches. Four stockings full of candy and treats hung off the backs of two chairs. 

Dean walked over and carefully removed the stocking stitched with “Kevin” across the cuff. He handed it to Nick. “I wasn’t able to fix that,” he said, his voice breaking.

Nick smiled gently and re-hung the stocking. “No,” he said, “but I was." 

“What?,” Dean asked, eyes wide. “How? That’s not possible.”

“Let’s just say I play a mean hand of poker, but Chuck didn’t know that until it was too late.”

Just then, the prophet came wandering out of the kitchen, munching on a bowl of Lucky Charms. Kevin scooped a spoonful into his mouth and crunched loudly. “Man, I missed cereal. And we’re out of milk, dude.” 

Dean anxiously looked back and forth between Kevin and Nick. “But, how—?”

Nick cut him off. “It was Kevin’s choice to come back, Dean. Chuck gave him the option, and he _chose_. There’s nothing unnatural here.”

“Really?,” Dean asked. 

“Really,” Nick said with a smile. 

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him speechless,” Kevin said to Nick. He ate another spoonful, grinning messily at Dean, before being engulfed in a hug that placed the prophet’s cereal in a truly precarious position. 

Nick took the bowl from Kevin’s outstretched hand, smiling as the two hugged fiercely. 

“I’m so sorry, Kevin,” Dean said. “I –“

“No, dude,” Kevin said. “Just stop. We’re good.”

“How can that be?”

“Because it is. Nick told you the truth: It was my choice to come back. If we weren’t good, why would I want to be here?”

“To stab me in my face?,” Dean asked.

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Good to see your trust issues remain intact.”

“Guys, what’s all the noise?,” Sam said, stumbling into the room. He froze at the sight of the man in the red suit and at Kevin. 

“Kevin?,” Sam said. “Oh my god –“ 

“Hey Sam,” the prophet said with a grin. He laughed out loud when Sam lifted him off the floor in a bear hug. 

Nick and Dean smiled at the scene. “And where’s your angel, Dean?,” Nick asked. “I want to see him too.”

“I’m here,” Cas said from behind them. “Hello, Nick.” 

Nick turned and exclaimed, “Castiel! It’s good to see you!” The two hugged and Cas grinned as Nick thumped him on the back before releasing him. 

“You two know each other?,” Dean asked. 

“We’ve met a time or three,” Nick said. “Affairs of the universe and all that.” 

Cas reached out and grasped Nick’s hand. “Thank you,” he said earnestly.

“No problem. I owed you one,” Nick replied. 

Dean raised an eyebrow at their conversation. “What’s that about?,” Dean asked. 

Cas slipped an arm around Dean’s waist and pressed a kiss to his temple. “Do you really have to ask?”

Dean cleared his throat and looked away from Cas’s intense blue gaze. “No, I guess not,” he said. Cas tightened his hold on Dean before stepping away to hug Kevin and welcome him home.

Nick grasped Dean by the shoulder. “I’m glad to see you doing better, boy. I didn’t like the places your mind was going last year.”

“Neither did I,” Dean replied honestly. 

Sam approached the red-suited man with an outstretched hand and a warm smile. “So you’re Santa?,” he asked.

Nick clasped the offered hand tightly. “I am, and you can call me Nick. I guess Dean already told you why I’m visiting?”

“Yeah, he did. I just wasn’t sure that it wasn’t the gin talking – until he showed me the amulet, that is,” Sam answered. 

“You Winchesters,” Nick said, rolling his eyes. “You’re tough customers.”

He set out a last handful of presents and surveyed the four men standing before him. “Hmmm,” he said contemplatively. “I do believe that I’ll be seeing you again soon,” he said with a chuckle. 

“We get more presents from Santa?,” Dean asked with a grin. “Are we just that good?”

“No, but your kids will be,” Nick said, chuckling as Dean gaped at him. 

“I don’t have any kids,” Dean said. He looked over at the others. “None of us do.”

“Yet,” Nick said, looking pointedly at Cas. Kevin elbowed Sam. 

“That’s a myth,” Cas said defensively. Sam elbowed Kevin.

“Oh, really?,” Nick asked. “You sure about that?” Sam and Kevin erupted into full-on snickering.

“What the hell?,” Dean asked, panic in his voice. “You can’t get pregnant, Cas… _can you_?” Sam and Kevin’s snickers turned into guffaws.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean,” Cas snapped. “Of course I can’t.” 

Nick clapped Dean on the back. “Now _that_ would be a Christmas miracle for sure,” he said. “It’s not just myth, though. It does happen with true grace-to-soul bonding, which the two of you have had in spades.”

“But I’m human,” Cas said, perplexed.

“Now you are,” Nick said pointedly. “But you haven’t always been.”

Cas looked at Dean, who was pinching his nose in frustration. “I swear to God, Cas, if you don’t tell me what the hell Nick is talking about _right frickin’ now…_."

“It’s not like human conception,” he said. “It’s like – “ Cas was at a loss for words and looked helplessly at Nick. 

Nick laughed. “The myth is that the cosmic energy expended in a human/angel love connection sets off a divine spark. A big enough spark can generate a burst of creation, if you will.”

“So, nephilim?,” Dean asked.

“Sort of,” Nick replied. “Nephilim are typically born from human mothers, but that’s a close enough comparison. And, yes, according to current projections, you two qualify.”

“And if the prophecy is only half right,” Nick added with a smirk, “the two of you have a hell of a spark.”

Dean and Cas looked utterly gobsmacked. Sam and Kevin were laughing so hard by now that they were holding one another up.

Nick shot a look their way. “I wouldn’t laugh so hard, you two. Neither of you may have half-angelic progeny heading your way, but I’ll be visiting your houses too.”

Sam shut up. So did Kevin. 

“Enjoy your Christmas, gentlemen,” Nick said warmly. “And do me a favor –“

“What?,” Dean asked weakly.

“Don’t set out traps or cast spells like John did. I can’t do this job with two bum knees.” 

“Sure. No traps, no spells,” Dean replied dazedly. The other three men nodded in agreement.

Nick set out a last handful of presents and chuckled at their glazed expressions. “I’d enjoy your freedom while you can, boys – Merry Christmas!” He pressed a finger to the side of his nose and vanished from sight.

Sam and Kevin grinned at one another like little kids and raced for the tree and their stockings. 

“Dean, Cas, get over here!,” Sam called. 

“Yeah, coming Sammy,” Dean answered. He turned to Cas, who’d been staring off into space for a good sixty seconds. 

“Is he for real?,” Dean asked. 

“Yes,” Cas answered. “Nick wouldn’t lie about something like that.” 

“So… a kid?”

“Apparently.”

“Hope he gets my sense of humor.”

Cas punched Dean lightly in the arm. “You’d better hope he doesn’t have the power to smite you for your bad jokes.”

“Oh, shit. The kid might have smitey powers?” Dean looked rather sick at the thought.

“Quit worrying, you two,” Sam said, walking over to physically pull them to the tree. “You’ve already had one kid who was the antichrist, and I turned out okay, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, Sammy, you did,” Dean said with a small but proud smile. He took a moment and watched his reunited family: Sam was happy and easy and wholly _Sam_ ; Kevin was alive and well and here; and Cas was – _Cas_. 

A beloved hand lifted his to familiar lips that tenderly brushed across his knuckles. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Dean smiled and slipped an arm around Cas, pulling him flush against his side. “Merry Christmas, Cas,” he said.

“Here, jerk,” Sam said, tossing Dean a brightly wrapped box that his brother deftly caught one-handed. “Open it.”

Dean grinned, and all four Winchesters dived into their presents. They all loved the gifts that Nick had slipped in for their adult selves, and Sam and Dean had a good laugh at the stuff they would have gotten all those years ago - everything from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures to a solar system kit that young Sam definitely would've geeked out over. 

Dean couldn’t help thinking of all the Christmases he stole crap gifts for Sam, but he shook off that regret, because no matter how murky the past, as he looked around at his family and their happy faces, the present looked pretty damn bright. 

In the wee hours of the morning, as they happily toasted one another with eggnog heavily spiked with rum, jingle bells echoed through the bunker, and they all heard Nick call out,

“Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!” 

And it certainly was.


End file.
